Dear Mother

Marisol is a young 14 year old girl, who keeps a diary, addressed to her dead mother, everyday for a year. Her last year. This is the tale of a young girl who has the words to change the nation, and the imagination to create another world. But her life isn't all full of wonders. People are out to get her. And we managed to find a copy of her diary, and now is here, for all prying eyes. This is the emotional heartfelt diary of Marisol Wynter...

**This is all fictional, and made up by me, Sophie**


1. 15th December

Dear Mother,

I've never kept a diary before. You gave me this one as a gift the day before you passed away. I'm going to address this to you, so you have something to read in heaven. You loved reading, didn't you? I always wrote you little stories and you always told me they were beautiful, and promised we would send them to the publishers, but we never did. Life's weird without you here, you know. It's not the same cuddling into father, because he's not as cuddly as you ever were. Isn't cancer horrible? I've put that on my list of things to sort out before I die. And I'll make sure I do get round to doing it.

At school, Mrs Murray, the guidance teacher took me out of science and was asking me about the bullying situation with Tom and Harris. I told her it's fine, and will get better in it's own time. I also told her to focus on other pupils who are actually in need of help, as a little teasing isn't going to kill me. Harris wasn't at school today, but Tom was, and he called me a couple of rude names (I shall not write them down as I don't think you would enjoy reading them), and he said something horrible about your death, which rather upset me, and I told him to leave me alone, but he didn't. He kept pushing the boundaries. "It's your fault you mum died, you know," he jeered. "Everything's your fault." I hope it wasn't my fault you died. If it was, I am extremely sorry, and the guilt is crawling from the ink in my pen into the blood in my veins. Although I'm not sure it was my fault that you ended up with cancer, as I don't see how a person can cause another to develop cancer.

Christmas is coming soon! I am very, very excited! I promise I won't ask father for too much. But on the top of my list is to get a piano. Wouldn't that be wonderful? Then I can turn my stories into nice little songs, and sing them for you, so you can listen to my music in heaven. Of course, I shall have to learn to play piano first. I would also like a cat. I would call it Bluebell, because bluebells were your favourite flowers. What are the flowers like in heaven? Do they have bluebells there? I hope they do, because I imagine that would put a smile on your face. Oh dear, I hope I do not sound too spoilt. Wanting a cat and a piano. I will stop talking about things I want now, as I can picture you sitting in the clouds reading this with a stern look on your face. You'll be saying "Less of what you want, be grateful for what you have."

I saw a shooting star the other night, Mother. And Father told me I should make a wish, because isn't that what you do when you spot a shooting star? Well, I did. And do you know what I wished for? I wished for you to be back here with us so I can get a cuddly cuddle (and not a boney cuddle from father!), and so you can tell me stories you made up in your head at bedtimes. Now I tell myself stories. I pretend you're saying them though, and I pretend you're next to me, giving me a cuddly cuddle, and kissing the tip of my nose. Do you hear me saying goodnight to you before I switch out my lamp? I hope you do. I better go now, as I have school tomorrow and must be up early, and it's already getting late.

Goodnight, sweet dreams,

Marisol xxx


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